


lightning striking all over the world

by starkoholic



Series: la petite mort [1]
Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Clothing Porn, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 21:30:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5681551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkoholic/pseuds/starkoholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like most of the plans he had concocted since making the acquaintance of one Captain William Laurence, this one had been short-sighted, ill-conceived, and could be considered a rather dramatic act of self-flagellation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lightning striking all over the world

**Author's Note:**

  * For [annicron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annicron/gifts).



Like most of the plans he had concocted since making the acquaintance of one Captain William Laurence, this one had been short-sighted, ill-conceived, and could be considered a rather dramatic act of self-flagellation. Tharkay had wrangled twenty feral dragons, taken a commission in the British Aerial Corps, and sailed into exile to the far reaches of the earth, and yet somehow, taking on the guise of a Chinese prince while wearing Laurence’s imperial robes was perhaps the most dangerous and foolhardy of all.

This plan was in keeping with the others, however, at least in one way. He had thought himself so terribly clever in the moment, a way to prove that he was still useful, with his broken hands and still-healing wounds, here in a country where he did not know the terrain or the language. However, as he drew the robes carefully out of their oilskin wrappings, he realized that once again, he had failed to take into account his own feelings, and thus the flaws in his plan made themselves known.

He was now grateful that he had refused Laurence’s help in dressing—he would have had to blame his shaking hands as he did up the robes’ elaborate fastenings on his injuries, which would have caused Laurence to make several unpleasant, worried faces at him. The alternative then would have been the truth, and he had no desire to guess at Laurence’s reaction to _that_.

Donning the robes—even in an act of subterfuge necessary to advance their efforts against Napoleon—opened up a well of emotions he had been struggling to contain since his dramatic rescue back in China. It was a startlingly intimate gesture, and he struggled not to dwell on Laurence’s acquiescence to the plan, nor did he attempt to devote much thought towards his distaste for it. His treacherous mind still conjured up questions however—was there any deeper meaning in Laurence allowing him to take such a liberty? Was Laurence’s disgust for the proposed charade a result of his natural disinclination for duplicity, or had he too realized the implications of having Tharkay parade around in Laurence’s clothing?

That train of thought made his chest constrict in an acutely painful manner. He sucked in a deep, shaky breath—and nearly choked on it.

Lord, Granby would have been insufferable.

Laurence had only suffered the costume on a handful of official occasions back in the Chinese court, and since then, the robes had been packed carefully away in his trunk. Yet somehow, against all logic, there was a particular underlying scent that lingered on the cloth that was, undeniably, _Laurence_.

“Tenzing?” Laurence’s quiet voice just outside the opening of his tent made him start with alarm. “Do you require assistance?”

Tharkay cleared his throat hurriedly, hoping that the flush on his cheeks would be attributed to the heat from the tent rather than the strange mixture of shame and arousal he actually felt. “No, no, Will,” he called, straightening his posture and smoothing his hands down the front of the robe. “I am ready.”

 

~

 

The first time it happened, it was almost an accident.

He had noted, upon their first meeting, how strikingly handsome Captain Laurence was—especially so, when he did not fit Tharkay’s usual preferences. However at the time, it had been merely an idle observation, a statement of fact, much like noticing that his hair was fair and his eyes a deep blue. More notable was the man’s unusual garb of a bottle-green padded silk jacket, clearly of Chinese make, with a neckcloth stuffed awkwardly into the short upturned collar, which Tharkay had noted with some amusement.

Laurence’s physical qualities had not posed much of  a problem during their initial acquaintance, as Tharkay was far too busy ensuring the other man of his own disreputable nature. However, after Laurence proved himself to be as good a man as he presented himself to be, that was when it became something of an issue.

Unlike many other men who spent most of their time on the road, Tharkay was not in the habit of frequenting brothels, nor was he one to visit the places where men could find company of other men. He had too much pride to find negotiable affection as an alluring prospect. That was not to say he was without experience prior to Sara, but those were few and far between, and mostly he had found his pleasure with his own hand.

It was a night that would be like so many in his life—alone, in his small tent a few days outside of Istanbul—had it not been for the fact that he was currently on a dangerously foolish errand, on behalf of a man whose cause he had no reason to believe in. _Twenty dragons_ —what had he been _thinking_? Well, it was most likely that he hadn’t been, of course, but his weak mind conjured up the image of blue eyes shining in the dark, bright with gratitude—an image he would take to his grave—and his conviction was renewed.

Now, though, restless and unable to find easy sleep, he plied the remedy he normally found helpful on such nights and took himself in hand, withdrawing only to moisten his palm with spit before reapplying himself. Tharkay worked himself to hardness, hoping to find quick release. He was ready to conjure up the normal images his mind drifted to—dark eyes framed by thick lashes, fair skin illuminated by moonlight, always accompanied by vague guilt but unable to bring himself to stop—but rather than Sara’s slim form, his mind fixated on broad shoulders and strong thighs, bright blue eyes framed by golden hair not quite long enough for a proper queue.

Tharkay came hard and unexpectedly, pleasure coursing through him almost violently; he bit his lip painfully to stifle his moans. He lay there after the moment passed, somewhat in shock at himself, not necessarily for the fact of his desire but the intensity of it. That his feelings had progressed this far without his noticing was rather alarming.

Upon further reflection, perhaps he should not have been so surprised. There were the twenty dragons to consider that should make this most recent revelation look paltry in comparison. Taking this new element into account certainly put the goal of his self-imposed errand into the appropriate perspective, and it was not as though he made a habit of falling for people he ever had a chance at being with.

One thing was certain—Laurence would never, _could_ never know.

 

~

 

While the Russians were not exactly welcoming them with open arms, the talks had succeeded in at least opening a dialogue, albeit a frustratingly obtuse one. Tharkay’s role in the talks had been minimal—by design, all he had had to do was mostly stand there and look appropriately imperious, but even so, he was relieved when he had the first chance to slip back into his own tent.

Spending the day being stared down by severe Russian officers had the added benefit of keeping his mind off his earlier thoughts, but now that he was alone, he was left with no suitable distraction.

This time, Laurence had not offered to help him undress, instead quickly retreating to his own pavilion with a slight flush that staining his cheeks. It was something of a relief; Laurence had nearly threatened to give the whole show away with the heavy, inscrutable looks he had been shooting Tharkay all day.

Tharkay had no wish to attempt to decipher Laurence’s strange behavior but now, standing alone in his tent with the weight of Laurence’s robes heavy on his frame, he could easily imagine those looks in an entirely different context.

Almost of their own volition, Tharkay’s hands reached up to slowly undo the fastenings at his neck, slowly working them open, exposing the bare skin of his throat. He pictured Laurence’s gaze on him, heavy and hot, as he shrugged the outer robe off slowly, hardly breathing as he did so. No trace of Laurence’s scent should still linger the fabric now, but knowing it had been there was already far too much. He closed his eyes then, and pictured Laurence lying back, on his bed, his hair glowing gold in the candlelight.

Tharkay carefully draped the robe over the single chair in the room—he had no desire to incriminate himself even further by damaging the garments. He stepped towards the low cot, eyes still half closed, and slipped carefully out of the white silk under robe. Goosepimples rose on his skin at the sudden exposure, and he imagined the reaction was to Laurence’s gaze turning appreciative, despite the thinness of his battered frame.

He was now almost fully aroused, and slightly ashamed of how quickly such a simple fantasy had affected him, but it did not prevent him from grabbing a small jar of balm and sliding into bed. The balm had many uses, and would raise no suspicions should it be found in his possession, but its main appeal lay in the application to which he was now applying it; he coated two of his fingers and arranged himself on his side—the best and easiest way to penetrate himself.

The angle is awkward, but it was not his first time performing such an act, and his cock swells further as he finds the correct angle. He moves his other hand—now also slick with lubrication—to palm at himself, then fully wraps his hand around his cock.

He works a second, then a third finger inside himself as he does so, working his entrance open for his imaginary Laurence. Despite the man’s modesty, they have traveled together enough that he has an accurate picture of what Laurence’s size would be when fully erect, and he knew enough to know that three fingers would not be adequate preparation. Perhaps it was a violation of the trust Laurence placed in him, but as he twisted his wrist to spread his own slickness over his erection, he could not bring himself to care. It was the smallest of the sins he had committed when it came to Laurence—this was not the first time he had indulged in this rather pathetic fantasy.

He imagined—Laurence sitting upright, Tharkay straddling his broad thighs while wearing only the red outer robe of his imperial costume. Laurence’s eyes alight with possessive desire, as he gripped Tharkay’s hips and drove into him hard. Strong enough to bruise, no doubt. Would Laurence derive a thrill from that, marking Tharkay? Or would he feel guilt, leaving more marks upon Tharkay’s body? Tharkay preferred the former, of course, he found himself suppressing a quiet moan at the thought of the evidence of Laurence’s desire being preserved on his body, if only briefly. He would encourage Laurence to mark his neck with bruising kisses, as he rolled his hips, pressing down to take Laurence deeper—

He could not quite hold back his exclamation as he came, turning his head to muffle the sound against the pillow. He lay there for a moment, gulping in deep breaths as he waited for the ringing in his ears to die down. There was no sound of movement from outside; his habit of isolation served him well, as his tent was set up on the very outer edges of their camp.

Slowly, he withdrew his hands, and reached for a nearby cloth to wipe himself down. Guilt settled into the pit of his stomach, but it was a familiar weight, one he had managed to live with for years now. Laurence was his friend, his truest friend in the world, but Tharkay had no doubts as to how he would take such a deviance on Tharkay’s part. He was a good enough man to accept someone like Granby, but when the attraction was personal, Tharkay was sure Laurence would never feel comfortable or safe in his company again. It was an old, accepted truth, one he had borne this long, would most likely bear for the rest of his life. Nothing had changed since their reunion in the cave; all was as it ever was, or would be.

Tomorrow, he would don the robes once more, and take up his role in Laurence’s place as the false Chinese prince. His damaged hands would ache a little more after his exertion tonight, but it was minimal compared to the guilty ache in his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> for annicron, u sinner. I'm writing a second part to this fic to fulfill your prompt in full just fyi I'm sorry I couldn't get both up in time hopefully this is enough!!!!!!!
> 
> shout out to [mal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/malfaisant/pseuds/malfaisant) for being the most patient beta in the world sorry mal


End file.
